Jordan was 18, but almost my own height. She was an old classmate to Denise, before the latter had switched schools for some reason. She had a nice, c...rvy figure. Not lean and athletic like Denise, but smooth, soft and plump in just the right places. Her breasts were quite large, though I made an effort not to stare. They might have been somewhere in the upper C-cup area. She had a tattoo of a sleek red space fighter on her right arm, and dark blond hair that fell to her shoulders, with one. She looked over at the doctor and saw that he was resting back in his expensive office chair like some conductor getting all the musicians in some semblance of order.Amanda knew her nylon covered legs were not quite closed but she didn't care if the doctor was taking a good peek or not. In fact, she kind of hoped he was because then he could see her French undies and know she was not the sort of woman that skimped on something nice to cover her pretty pussy. She absent-mindedly tweaked her. But it doesn’t need to be. This is for him. Her noises: louder. Less coherent. Her movements, such as her shitty-but-effective straight-rope-mess will permit her- more wriggly.Why does her brain want to get away from this source of undoubted pleasure, albeit inflicted as opposed to nurtured onto her? As much as the pain from his open, rapid, palm? Maybe more so.As if on cue, he utters:‘Don’t you fucking dare.’‘Don’t you fucking dare, you ingrate. You fucking ungrateful slut.’The softly. “There too are children!”The warrior watched where she pointed. “Pargesh,” he spit out, as if the word would leave a foul taste in his mouth.“Pargesh, is that how you call your children?” Menja asked furrowing her brow.“They are no children of the Norgar but the bastards of whores. Vermin, following us like the rats on our ships,” the warrior answered.“What is a bastard?” Menja followed up with a new question.“A child born without a father, it doesn’t belong to a family or clan. That’s a.
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